In the management OpFrame, the hundred program voices blended and stacked into a high bandwidth conversation where emotion conveyed as much as words. With the Standard Operations Review completed, focus shifted to current priority projects and workstreams.
“We’re 3 months into toniQ phase 1 with early outcomes that match predictions,” said Harriett. “After treatment, half the veterans have stayed in the support programme in Botswana, half went home. Malia Kabelu’s ready to Viewbond in Gaborone to show us around and Harrison Blackwell is up north at the construction site.”
Malia was the daughter of a mid level Botswanan government official. Scott had met her when he was travelling with his family in Southern Africa. She’d been a lower level manager of the parks and reserves, with a strange affinity for the wildlife. She was able to anticipate and read animal behaviour, which allowed her to take Scott’s family extremely close. That was the giveaway to her unusual empathy and ultimately led to her recruitment. She Anchored the Viewbond from the roof of the recently completed treatment block near Phakalane Lagoons, on the north eastern edge of Gaborone. Malia’s bond made the fidelity of the Viewbond sharp and she could emote without having to actually speak. The roof was turfed with thick-bladed grasses. Its perimeter was planted out with fruit trees, shrubs and trellises of vegetables. The southern end was given over to the rows of a market garden.
“The roof garden is practical and therapeutic, as usual. With the ground to the south, we’re moving towards food self-sufficiency on vegetables for this site. The outer frame around the building is growing plants and trees on the Baubotanik principle, so in a few years the building will be semi-invisible and delivering even more food right next to every window.” She began to walk towards the roof’s northern end, where a dozen American men were taking part in what was obviously a beginners’ yoga class. “There’s a program of option for patients each day: exercise, breathing, mindfulness, meditation and yoga and the market garden to work. Patients are free to participate in activities as they like. So far, patients are receptive to what’s on offer. 25% generally don’t engage, just doing some exercise and then following their personal interests in the city or on site. We’ve noticed that 87% of the difficult social behaviours are in the minority that don’t engage. Enhanced monitoring at the end of each therapy session suggests these are the deeply anti-social and dysfunctional people, some of them are in the psycho and socio groupings, alcohol excesses as well. We anticipate they’ll have the highest toniQ failure rate within 6 months. We’re not catching the failures, we’re only focussed on maximising the successes. So far, take up for Hemi-Sync is low, only 20%, but we expected 15% anyway. ”
Malia strolled past the yoga group and into the stairwell. The air conditioning inside was icy compared to the radiant sunshine outside. She descended to the block’s top floor and wandered along spacious corridors past sets of uniform doors.
“These are the counselling rooms. Twenty in total.” She turned in the corridor and through another door there was an open breakout area on one side and a library on the other. Several men were relaxing and talking over drinks, three were browsing through the books. “The library’s well stocked with mixed material. We’ve deliberately abandoned all digital format and content and encourage the mindful engagement with books. We’re trying to get them to downpace and switch back into concentration and focus. There’s no TVs in the entire treatment facility and we recommend people go downstairs to a specific lounge to use devices and access the web feed. We encourage disciplined use and self limitation, but it’s varied. Modern life doesn’t get forgotten so easily.”
Past the library was a gym with equipment and a dojo area. Malia went down to the next floor and wandered through micro apartment blocks around communal kitchens where men and women were busy preparing a large amount of produce as a Botswanan woman talked them through a recipe.
“When an intake comes, we show them that the communal kitchens can be used how they want. We provide a wide spectrum of recipes but all the staff take turns in being available to train them in Botswanan and regional cooking while they’re here in the hope that they will come together in the kitchen, learn about the culinary culture here and work together as a team for bonding and support. So far, this is one of the most positively received aspects of the program outside of the therapy itself. This is exactly what we forecast and patients tell us they have forgotten what the community of kitchen feels like. We tell them that in Botswana, it’s always been here!”
Malia descended two more alike floors and on the ground floor wandered through a rec room, the wifi and computer area, to the reception. Then she descended in a hospital sized elevator to the basement.
“As standard, we’ve got a full medical and dental suite, with trauma facility. We can provide huge amounts of primary treatment here for patients and we have the capacity for locals too. The doctors are mostly local, with two on attachment from the US via the Alke Foundation. Two thirds of the veterans have some other physical or dental issues because of poverty and combat injury. We want to correct that stuff as much as possible while they’re here to help them physically and mentally. If they stay for the training, we manage their conditions out of here on a periodic basis. The site across the road is ours but that’s waiting for the Resurgenesis terms to be agreed so the config will be totally different. What’s the status with Resurgenesis?”
“James Reinhold is about to commence his own treatment,” said Anders, “and Maggie Reinhold’s team is already here in country. Preliminary negotiations are likely to take about two weeks. The deal is as simple and honest as we could make it. That might be its downfall. We might have to increase the bribery and skimming, but hopefully not.”
“Well, it’s as good here as you’ll find in Africa, so what will be will be,” said Malia.
“What are the toniQ results looking like so far?” asked Anders.
“It’s better than the Portuguese pilot’s results. 85% PTSD and mental trauma symptom reductions after the two weeks across all the veterans. Suicidal tendencies shows a 90% reduction. We know that’s not just the MDMA therapy. That’s also because of the direct support with personal administration issues, immediate financial stabilisation and the support programs and skills training. Our costs are much higher by comparison to the pilot, obviously, but our model will become self-sustaining. The US government won’t back us at all even though were treating US veterans - just as we thought - but we don’t need it. Botswana understands where this is going and they’re seeing positive outcomes. They like the idea of adding therapeutics to their national economy while bolstering tourism and building infrastructure. If there’s no more questions, Harrison is waiting for you at the construction site.”
Harrison Blackwell was a former CIA operative with a background as a combat engineer, which had seen him attached to Special Operations with AFRICOM. After ten years in the Agency, he found a way out through a program security and infrastructure contractor, Janus Integra, that was based in South Africa. It had been set up by James in the early 80’s. Harrison fell in love with Africa and a South African woman, Delilah, and she sealed his fate on the continent. Together they bought a farmstead and he branched out from destruction to creation. The programme streamed him off and recruited him from there. He was waiting for the ViewBond observers in the north of Botswana where the country’s tiny populace gave way to the beauty of nature. He felt them join as a mass of joyful consciousness.
“It’s a bit of a juxtaposition here at the moment. We’re in a beautiful place but as you can see, there’s kinda fuck all here!” Harrison was on wide open ground beside the A3 highway, on the edge of the Nxai Pan and Makgadikgadi Pans National Parks. 200 meters north of the road were a mixture of modern mobile buildings in stacks and large and medium sized yurts, with some more military-looking square and rectangular tents. Some trucks and plant machinery were visible beyond the structures.
“That’s the site. Doesn’t look like much from here, but it gets better.” He pointed past his infant son, Tom, who was dangling from his chest in a harness. He cushioned his son as he jogged towards the higgledy piggledy village. “We’ve got core facilities here for trade training in brick and timber construction and full groundwork and services training. But we’ve also got FloeBuild up and running now, so we’re actively training on that. All the initial accommodation is gonna be FloeBuild printed so people will live in what they make and we get practical testing of the structures and designs. We directly print in soil with an organic binder, then reinforce with structural, encapsulated engineering timbers for multi-storey designs. Or we can press plain or interlock bricks from different compositions. We’re self-sufficient for hemp here for hempcrete.”
As Harrison walked through the tents, the observers could see mostly Western men but also some women engaged at various stations practising construction skills in the open. Bricklaying, plastering and rendering, ground water and sewerage were all being trained by Botswanans. He ducked into a long rectangular tent. A trainer was delivering a lecture on groundworks and basic machine operation. Harrison kept going through and into a large square tent next door. Inside, another small class was being shown basic plumbing.
“It’s intense, but people are taking to it. It clicks with their military mindsets. Motivation’s really high. They’re getting that construction buzz and the setting’s fucking amazing. We get rec time in the parks and they’re full of wildlife. That seems to connect as well to the agriculture. Most people are doing their share of work in the gardens too.”
“How many patients have expressed interest in the military option?” asked Thomas.
“More than we thought. At the beginning of the treatment programme, it’s low - 5% maybe. Once patients get involved with the construction training it gets higher. 35% have come forward with some interest in helping with military consultancy. Once they start building stuff, getting along with the locals and making friends, they wanna protect the place and help the Botswanans do that for themselves. It’s working, Tom. Not all their trauma is about the fundamentals of the military. They’re not all adverse to it for life, as we knew. They just needed help to cope, to forgive, let go and discover life again. That’s my theory. I’ll let you know when it all comes crashin’ down.”
“Repurposing was our aim,” said Thomas. “What’s the timeframe for your Resurgenesis facility?”
“Once the Gaborone facility is running at 75% capacity, the underground lab here should take 2 months, then the above ground facilities will depend on final design. We need to improve the airport to get A320s in. The runway needs lengthening and there’s terminal improvements. If it was done well, that’s a 5 month job.”
“Sounds great. Have you spotted any potential talent yet?”
“Yeah, two NCOs and an officer. I’m gonna take just them out into the parks and see how they emanate in the wild. I’ll rig a lightweight animal empathy test here and see how people do.”
“Let’s not run before we can walk,” said Melissa. “These are traumatised people. We know how hard the Jersey boys and girls are to support. This is a whole other learning curve.”
“Understood. Proceed with caution,” said Harrison. “Where are we with political and military protection? Things will happen quickly once everyone starts to understand Resurgenesis. We need to be well ahead, or there’ll be bad outcomes.”
James began to emote in the Viewbond. “We’re on track. Cassandra’s predictions are fully resourced. Maggie Reinhold’s negotiations will fully cover internal security and warn about external interest. If the Botswanan government is receptive, she’ll consult on Chinese and Russian relations. toniQ is a totally separate means for Botswana to bolster its internal military capability, if some of our patients stay the course and help with training. That brings Five Eyes expertise into Botswana. The Botswanans will always need the combined strength of internal security, regional allied forces, foreign allies in-country and private contractors. We’re involved in most of that.”
After Harrison’s overview was brought to a close, the ViewBond dissolved and everyone returned to the management OpFrame with a strong feeling of hope, contentedness and positivity.
Harriett directed everyone to the Cronus dashboard as the next item for attention.
“Another Cronus tool is complete. Martin’s got an update.” said Harriett.
“We’ve completely automated a self-contained enticement and lure process for online predators within Aulos,” said Martin. The Cronus dashboard featured a global map full of interconnected points, schematics of data flows and multi-axis performance data. What Martin described wasn’t on the dashboard. “Aulos fully emulates a juvenile victim - a siren - to ensnare the predator, just as people have been doing for themselves online. Aulos deploys siren profiles across all comms apps and interfaces. It can frig the siren account creation dates so they didn’t all just turn up yesterday and it creates artificial micronetworks on Meta and others, to make them look real enough. It can do text, voice and video calls. It’s biased to text, obviously. No one can tell Aulos isn’t human. As soon as a predator initiates contact with a siren, Aulos can pinpoint their identity and location then initiates assessment and audit. No protections can stop it. Targets would have to be running Agency level security to have a chance of keeping Aulos out, and we’d know that quickly. Aulos responds to contact in the usual ways, ensuring the predator takes themselves over the legal boundaries. It generates plays based on its assessment of the predator: if it’s a Joe, we catalogue and mirror their devices and life; if it’s someone in a network, we map and penetrate the network; if they’re originating material or there’s detectable evidence of abuse, they become highest priority. The priority index is built around material volume, type and originality, social standing, role, access to kids, official position, criminal record, geolocation tracks and so on. Aulos can fan out the assessment to look for trafficking connections and behaviours. The bottom of the food chain is a Joe in momma’s basement. Any higher status person has asset value. The top is high status or official, networked power player acting as consumer, trafficker or originator. Once the predator’s in the game, we have options.”
“What are the means for asset management?” said Anders.
“Collectively, it’s what we’re calling a hostageware attack. Aulos assessment and auditing feeds all data straight back for library checking, tracking, network analysis and so on. Latent ransomware goes out to every single device Aulos determines to be theirs, including vehicles of the right kinds. We could launch a ransom and blackmail op at any time. Aulos will let predators go as far with a siren as they want, increasing the chances of them compromising themselves. It can give back AI generated images and video to keep the predator engaged. AI generated material isn’t a real victim, so it skirts the very edge of most creation laws. Plus, Aulos manages the “reality and explicitness” of the AI material to “entertain” the predator on a minimal basis. Put simply, Aulos does as little as possible to trap the predator but if the predator wants to get their dick out, Aulos will go along with that to get what it needs and nothing more. Between the assessment, audit, ransomware, chats, conversations and any pictures or video predators give Aulos of them jerking off, we’ll end up owning and controlling the predators very quickly. All of this means Aulos is a self-sufficient, end-to-end solution. Some of the predators will be vulnerable to self-termination. Anaideia is the final control.”
“Where are we with the Anaideia agents?” asked Melissa.
“The tech long term system works as we would expect. The short terms system works perfectly for multi compound delivery and activation. The results are easy to mask inside the pandemic aftermath. Our problem is delivery. If we use Alpha teams for every target, in the UK alone it would take 27 years if we did 10 targets a day, and 5-and-a-half years at 50 targets a day. Fortunately, we’ve got some other ideas to trial.”
“Such as?” said Melissa.
“Guy Edevane wants to get into the confectionary business. We’re spinning everything up in the UK right now. It’ll be a month to get a production facility up, another month to do initial marketing-based operations. It’s one way to target the single predators, if it works. We can expand this idea into other custom deliverables.”
“Have we got any idea of how many kids Aulos will leave for us to pick up?” asked Jackie Neill.
“Aulos seeded some sirens in every platform but never responded to contacts. From those numbers, we estimate 1.5 million US offenders active in the online space. Demographics suggest half have parental responsibility. That’s maybe 1 - 2.25 million children affected.”
“What’s the plan for deployment?”
“UK only, initially,” said Martin. “We want a contained, limited population for the first operational study. Guy is the UK Epimetheus and Aulos lead now. He’s focused on the first stage of Anaideia delivery, but there are other challenges to come. This will probably be the first major test for the New Jersey project. Anna’s volunteered to work on Aulos. We’ve set her up as a medical consultant through the Alke Foundation. Emile is there for two weeks to help with co-ordination but he’ll be going with Bryce and Mateo for rejuvenation after that. Emile’s quitting Cronus for the foreseeable future.”
“Speaking of those two, where are they?”
“Mateo is home in Buenos Aires with his children.” said James. “Bryce is on his own rebuild in Brazil and then he’ll take his trip. You know what Bryce is like. He’s putting himself on a new curve. He’s done with frontline operations. He might retire. He’s close to an edge, so we’re banking on rejuvenation pulling him back. We might suggest he joins toniQ. As a patient.”
Guy Edevane sat in a black Range Rover in Heathrow’s short stay car park. He was reviewing a stack of business registration, tax and licensing paperwork that Cassandra had prepared. With everything looking good, he had 15 minutes until his call with the UK Health and Safety Executive, Food Standards Agency and Bristol Council inspectors. Britain was a bloated state but there was no changing it. Getting all the people on the same call at the same time was a work of art that he was happy to delegate to the automation.
He hit play on the stereo, reclined his seat and closed his eyes. The slow, rhythmic string plucks of shamisen filled the air and took him down; a fraction less matter, a fraction more information. As the wailing, soaring vocals began he softly sang the words in time.
Just as my fingernails
Are stained with the pigment from balsam flowers
My heart is painted
With the teachings of my parents
His parents had journeyed on a long time ago, but lived with him still. They had taught him struggle and persistence, loyalty in spirit above loyalty of means. From his father he’d inherited his broad intelligence and the isolation of a constantly questioning mind, as well as his vulnerable, romantic core. From his mother, he had taken stubbornness and the mixed blessing of focus that could become fixation. Together, they had set in him the fire of anger that permeated his youth, and imprinted on his mind the sensations of ingratitude and abandonment.
Although the stars in the sky
Are countable
The teachings of my parents
Are not
Others in life, inside and outside the program, had helped him reform his muddled self and expanded and accelerated his development. New or forgotten memories of childhood still surfaced in him during quiet, random moments. Some happy, most melancholy. Memory looked more like prescient lessons the older he got but that was the trick of hindsight.
Just as ships that run in the night
Are guided to safety by the North Star
I am guided by my parents
Who gave birth to me and watch over me
After all he had seen and done, he understood that his deeply flawed family was riddled with imperfection and struggle, but not darkness or evil. Ignorance, disinterest and uncaring were something else that was about sadness, withdrawal and isolation.
There's no point in possessing magnificent jewelry
If you don't maintain it
People who maintain their bodies
Will live life wonderfully
He pictured himself amongst the earth, in the soil, penetrated by roots and mycorrhizal networks. Life blazed and flowed in the mass of him and all else. Sinking back and back, further and deeper into stillness, he pictured the flowing, ebbing, black colours in MindSpace and the ever slowing race from matter to energy to information. Rhythm and frequency coursed lower and lower into the engulfing blackness of the welcoming unknown.
The desires of the person who lives sincerely
Will always run true
And as a result
She will prosper
He looked forward to performing Chaji for his guests. The sun would have set. It would be Yobanashi. They would be welcomed with ceremony, protected with small ritual, and calmed by care and love.
You can do anything
If you try
But you can't
If you don't
Each drum beat and string pluck was a step, step, step, across a desert to a shimmering horizon.
When the song finished, he let the visions and feelings ebb where they may. He pictured the sun in blackness, ringed with vague, flowing coronae. As he stared into its brightness, he breathed his visions and memories into it to return them to the ether.
With his mind cleared, he drew out of his isolation but remained still. He would achieve his goal before his friends arrived, then there would be pleasure and challenge in equal measure.
The conference call was his to manage. The bureaucrats reeked of organisational amateurishness. He gently positioned himself as the chair of the meeting, suggested his agenda and walked through their demands and contributions, ticking off issues one-by-one with a brutal logic wrapped in a veil of soft political language. All of the company and operational planning was totally conformant to their every regulation. His primary job was to listen to them express their authority then acknowledge that authority by showing how each detail within his work conformed. Everything was meaningless to the point of illusion. He was there to dance with them the way they liked to dance. Nothing more. When the call was over and they had all given their verbal approval, he dictated and sent a follow up confirmation of the meeting to lock the government recipients into agreement with him. The production unit was already set up with two lines; one for the standard product and one for the Anaideia. The initial staff were all Alphas but real staff were being recruited. He ticked off the last item on his task list and closed his daybook. He opened the glovebox and took out the block. It looked like an expensive, long zipped wallet made of fine black leather. Inside, its two halves were lined with a grey gel that glittered internally. He shut off the cell phone, wiped its surfaces against his clothes then pressed it into the gel in one half of the block, making sure its ports were surrounded, then he pressed the block shut, zipped it up and threw it back into the glove box. As he rolled a cigarette, he eyeballed the car’s interior. It was an immaculately restored 2001 model Range Rover, free of electronic frippery and connectivity. As comfortable as a car needed to be, unhackable and less trackable. Smoked windows and a modified windshield screwed up camera views of the interior. Simplicity was a key form of protection. Outside the car, he slowly smoked and thought of dancing.
He felt their pings and looked across to the elevators. Anna and Emile were scanning for him. He waved until they spotted him, opened the trunk and sat in it until they arrived.
“Hola, guapo!” she called when near.
“Good to see you, buddy!” Emile hollered.
He took their light bags, slung them in the trunk then quickly embraced Emile.
“Welcome back, brother. You look well. It’s good to see you.” Emile felt like a wall of rock.
“Needed to break up the Mexican sunshine with a damp climate before heading back home to sunny Cali.” Emile’s smile radiated his usual warmth that simultaneously reminded Guy of their friendship and his injury. That smile had snapped a neck, smashed a jaw and plugged his stab wound.
As he turned to Anna, her taught arms snaked around him. He pulled her in and she squeezed, nestling tightly under his chin. Her hair smelled of that sweet conditioner and she fitted just like she always had. He drew back to take in her face.
“Still as pretty as usual.”
As he drove out from the edge of London towards Bristol, they spoke in MindSpace about the present state of the operation. They had a lot of work to do. The chocolate production facility was set up in a double industrial unit on the same site as the general operations shop. The units were in Market Side industrial estate on the edge of south central Bristol. The GenOps unit was kitted out with carpentry, joinery and metalworking equipment, a vehicle lift and mixed tooling. Enough for the general engineering and mechanical services that were run out of the place and for their needs. Two stacked mobile units inside suggested office space but they were constructed to BSL3 mini lab standard. The lower unit had normal office accoutrements but the upper unit had scientific and medical suite loadout. With some tweaking, they could build bombs, cook meth or work on small scale genetics.
“The Anaideia devices need to be trialled and proven,” Guy explained. “They’re simple in principle. The vehicle units are probably the best. The water system units are a mixed bag, depending upon the building. Accessing a British house’s water supply from the outside is tricky unless the feed from the street is accessible. Communal buildings with service access are much more straightforward. None of these tools scale. They’re one-on-one attacks. We’d never get the whole job done with them. Their use is for higher value targets but we still have isolation problems.”
Guy had worked through approaches using prototype Anaideia devices. There was a selection of innocuous-looking plumbing items that could be attached to or inserted in domestic and industrial plumbing systems. One was a simple pressure gauge that could be loaded then literally snapped closed and sealed around a pipe. It punctured the pipe to feed the Anaideia straight in at a controlled rate. Another was an externally mounted magnetic particulate filter that worked the same way. There was another inside a section of pipe that could be spliced in. Water filter components and whole filters featured as well. There were other elements of internal and external plumbing that would enable them to attack most parts of a target’s water supply, including the main network pipe from the common feed in the street and via the target’s water meter.
Two different devices were designed for vehicles. One attached using an electromagnet to the underside of the floorpan. A narrow hole had to be drilled through the floor for the device’s thin nozzle to run into the cabin, just through the carpet. The device pumped the aerosolised Anaideia into the cabin while the vehicle was in motion. When its payload was expended, the electromagnet shut off and the device fell from the vehicle. Another was for attachment to a ventilation hose downstream of the filters.
“Ingestion, inhalation or injection are the only ways, and we need to be precise,” said Guy. “Aulos estimates for the UK are probably above 100,000 now, so I had to get creative.”
“Have you thought of a brand name yet?” asked Anna.
“No. I thought you two could help. The marketing plan is all lined up. Multi-channel campaign to lay the groundwork for the mail-based market research. Cassandra’s built everything. Packaging design will follow to match the name.”
“Didn’t you ask Cassandra for a name?” said Emile.
“Nah. Last resort. More fun if we did it together. It might go global.”
“If only we could call it Kinder Surprise!” laughed Anna.
“Fuck, I hadn’t thought of that. Jesus… the irony. Trust you to think of that,” Guy laughed. Anna had an edge and a level where they matched.
“What gave you the idea?” said Anna.
“Aulos sort of did. The target packages are just like ultra specific marketing intelligence. I started thinking of it from that angle. Then thinking about a product most people will use, or eat. Then how to get a tailored, individual product to each specific target that they would accept. A few months ago, I was watching a series on YouTube about a craft chocolate company. This is what I came up with. Maybe it’ll work, maybe it won’t. If the chocolate’s good, the thing will pay for our effort. Have you both been through the Anaideia specs?”
“Yeah. Cleverly terrible stuff,” said Emile, “but practically everyone’s seen some of this before, which is what makes it so…”
Gaborone was as Scott had described. New and soulless. The city was a mass of modern, plain, functional box variations. The sights and delights of Botswana were not to be found in the architecture of its capital. The Grand Palm Resort felt like it was two decades old in terms of interior design style, but it was the best spot in the city for their needs. Meetings had started at the Ministry of Finance and Development Planning, between the President’s Office and the US Embassy. Then they’d worked through Health, Building Control, a wall of lawyers and a security services panel. If they kept making progress, they would be back into a second iteration. The goal was to get an hour’s slot to pitch to the President, then wait for a decision or recall.
Two things were happening: formal contracting based around a deal that was almost to good to refuse, and the setting of not price but margin. In that margin were the cuts for all the clutching hands. Maggie’s job was primarily to find the minimally optimal margin and lock it for as long as possible to ensure that Resurgenesis had a stable and persistent cost base to genuinely prove the viability of its idea. That was the risk of Africa: unstable and inflated costs due to bribery and changes of government that could ruin projects. The program had loaded the dice. Intelligence had been collected from national and international development contracts and pricing. Cassandra knew the true price of a good job and the realistic premium to pay on top. Scott had given Maggie the intelligence without revealing its true sources. James’ team had built the pitch. Maggie was the glue between the two.
She never talked about price. She spent the first week focused solely on the treatment proposals, the holistic Resurgenesis vision of health and treatment, and the power of it to pull money and people into the country. She spent the second week dealing with their questions and getting them to state whether they agreed with each aspect of the pitch and the benefits in order to lock down their ability to argue on value. They tried to get her to state what Resurgenesis was willing to invest, which was the same as her naming her price, but she wouldn’t play that game. They could see the potential as a long lasting money machine. Actual health was a secondary benefit to the officials.
“If you think this is something you’re interested in, show your interest by putting me in with the President. I’ll be here till the end of the week. If you’ve got doubts or questions, you can get me any time.”
Then she started lining up negotiations with Rwanda and Namibia as a backup and to kick off a little competition.
“Hey Mags,” Scott was waiting for the call at the villa. “What’s your news?”
“I got in to the President’s office. Masisi liked the integrated medical and social development pitch, given his background. That kept us away from too many hard numbers. I’ve pushed the ownership and revenue model. I never gave them our price, all the percentages will mean they have to keep their prices and costs realistic to get their margins. I’m at the airport now. I’ll follow up hard in two weeks. I’ll do preliminary work with Rwanda and Namibia via delegates on a sat link. Keep buying land in them and other places.”
“What do you expect to happen?”
“In principle, they’ll sign. What they’re trying to guess is their leverage to rip us off on margin. They don’t like my refusal to talk price but that’s the game. The land’s already bought; the building work is a private negotiation and we can import a lot of the skill base if we have to or sidestep them with toniQ. James is paying for the privilege to operate, the regulatory process, labour rights and the right to own what Resurgenesis builds. Their constant kickback from every treatment revenue is 5% minimum and they get all the inbound money. We can’t make this better for them. If they’re dumb or stupidly greedy, there’s 4 other continents available. I reckon I can get this done at $40m tops, backloaded so inflation makes it net cheaper.”
“What happened at the security panel?”
“I just gave it to them straight: if the treatment is half of what I described, the entire world will buy it. That means half the world will try to steal it. Border and internal security will be at risk. The only way to quickly deal with that is to establish counterbalancing relations with the big players. It’s up to them who they trust, but Resurgenesis doesn’t trust anyone. They understand the problem and they know they can’t really handle it. They need time to think. If Botswana will do the deal when I follow up, I’ll ramp up everything with the security panel. How’s James and our team?”
“He decided to only fix his arm. That’s safer for him, lets him focus and strings dad along as much as possible. Jimmy’s starting it on Monday. We wanted to wait for you. Dad seems stable. We just keep doing our thing and sending him and mom to bed happy at night.”
“I can’t wait to get home, “ Maggie sighed. If things were different, I’d enjoy this trip but now it just feels like a chore.”
The management OpFrame was 9 hours into its usual 12 hour running time.
“How critical is Guy?” asked Anders. “If he was lost, what would we lose?”
“He’s not critical to delivery. He’s highly valuable in origination,” said James. “As long as he’s ahead of the curve and clean, we’re unlikely to lose him.”
“Has he finished Epimetheus?”
“He’s done enough for the time being. I can update on that now. There’s two, unified parts, Aspis and Phalanx, and a supporting component, Ambuscade.”
James threw up the Epimetheus dashboard on his vista. The rest perceived their colleagues’ view of the display within the OpFrame well enough.
“Aspis is an ongoing, flexible project. Guy designed the garments, basic loadout and a standardised assembly line. Aspis is a civilian riot “suit” system with a loadout selection that matches the individual’s role. It takes the basic look of the V for Vendetta protagonist, V, as a top skin that unifies appearance to anonymise everyone. Underneath that skin, it applies military principles using common materials, equipment and techniques.
“The outer skin is a black, fire retardant cloak to cover body form without restricting movement. There’s a separate, multifunctional hood mask with breathing and vision protection. Helmets complete the outer. Beneath the outer is a fire retardant jumpsuit with utility pockets and integrated carrier harness for gear attachment. By design, the waist loop and pelvic seams form a climbing harness that can bear anyone’s load so they can abseil or be lifted. The shoulders and calf edges are strong points. Put those points together and the jumpsuit is an evac bag: one or more people can drag or lift and carry the body in the suit to effect a casevac. Under the jumpsuit is the armour carrier. It’s a stretch mesh layer that holds the armour plates. Underneath that, the individual can wear a lightweight layer of civilian clothes.
“The armour is dirt cheap but highly effective. It’s a multi-panel lightweight design far above civilian riot standard. It requires zero special skills, equipment or high energy to make. There’s two basic modular designs. It’s just glass fibre composite plates. At the cheapest, lowest spec end, we use standard glass fibre. For better performance we add Kevlar layers internally and also front and back for spall protection. We’ve tested this a lot and it’s not perfect but with a high performance resin, we can get Level 3A pistol protection and Level 3 rifle for a at least a single strike. It weighs a third of a military equivalent and is thinner. We can make any shape and form with a press, so we can produce a modular suit for full body protection. The same process makes the helmet and the outer mask. Garment manufacturing is low skill and can combine automation. The complete basic suit equips a civilian to an equivalent of riot police for $200 at US retail prices without economies of scale.
“Guy designed the entire commercial and field production lines and put the field line into a shipping container. We’re using large scale manufacturing on each continent. All we’re making is jumpsuits, mesh suits, and sheets of composite components. The gear loadout’s mission specific so we just pull off-the-shelf equipment for a given role or objectives. Guy’s come up with a basic set of individual weapons and ammo.
“Then Phalanx kicks in. It’s Guy’s basic individual and small squad urban tactics play book. Soldiers get trained in a week. Captains take two weeks and Generals take four weeks. It combines formation, movement, gear, environment, and orders to achieve offensive and defensive capabilities. It uses stuff from the environment in controlled ways to attack and defend. It also includes specific tasks like surveillance nullification.
“Together, Aspis and Phalanx create organised and structured civilian armies that work on simple procedures to be radically more effective in urban streets. Combine these capabilities with force of numbers and most police will be forced to capitulate or radically escalate.”
“That’s impressive. Where are we with roll out?” asked Anders.
“It’s in prototype deployment on both sides of the Mexican border, France and UK, Hong Kong, and Sao Paulo. Then, there’s Ambuscade. Guy’s designed multiple drone systems to provide air support to the Phalanx. Electronic Warfare uses triangulation to detect IMSI catcher units so a squad can attack and capture them, and can perform localised airborne jamming of wifi, radio and cellular signals. Anti-surveillance disables cameras using paint jets or .22 rounds. Assault can drop various kinds of bomblets from a 12 round array, or deploy fluids. This means we can use incendiary, acid and biological attacks. We can dump and ignite fuels or napalm-like loads, or douse with paint or irritants. Dousing with acids causes major degradation of Kevlar and synthetic equipment as well as causing physical and respiratory injuries. We could deploy a wide range of biological agents to infect security services without any direct crowd contact. Over time, their numbers on the street would reduce due to sickness. The pathogens don’t have to be aggressive, just affecting. Ambuscade operations are an Alpha and Beta job. We’re not looking to train just anyone. Escalation management is key.”
In the candlelight, Guy took a different form. He was dressed in black kimono jacket and flowing trousers. His shoulder length, dark hair was sleeked back. His face was usually locked in various expressions that betrayed tense, rapid and complex thought but now it was serene and unguarded. His relaxed, clean shaven jaw exaggerated his sallow cheeks that would dimple when he found the time and reason to smile. Anna and Emile sat with him in a triangle and quietly observed as he conducted his version of the Yobanashi ceremony by performing deliberate, ritualised movements in the serving of carefully selected and lovingly prepared food and tea. For Guy, it was a way to welcome them with his show of care and attention while establishing an inner calm and clear mind. For them, it was a relaxing form of service and social occasion that transported them away from the world by bringing them closer together.
Their conversation was purely personal. Nothing about the program. Only life as it used to be; only the facets of themselves that were uncomplicated and unburdened. Emile talked about his plans for his time with family and how he’d finalised a training and nutrition system that he would launch via his wife, Carolina. They would come with him to the great forests for a holiday and to try out his system. Anna told of how she had been skydiving, paragliding and diving, like they had done when they were last together. She reeled off a selection of new music for Guy to sample. Guy told them how he’d been developing plans for a charity based around combining youth work with elder care. He’d recently been keeping elderly people company in residential homes and felt compelled to join youth work to it to create a kind of virtuous cycle.
After the ceremony was completed and they’d had time to reconnect, Guy took a small bowl and crushed a lump of slightly crystalline substance into it, then poured a little warm water from the kettle in. He gently stirring the bowl, mouthing some silent prayer. Cupping the bowl with both hands, he offered it to Anna, who dipped her fingertips into the bowl and rubbed them together. Emile followed then Guy took his turn. Their fingertips were slightly stained a dull red brown from the balsam sap. Guy rose and slid open the door to his Japanese room. On the veranda they sat quietly in the cool night while Guy and Anna smoked a joint.
“How do you feel about a walk? If you want to see Epimetheus, I can take you. Then we can come back, get some tunes on and smash some more food. I’ll change then we’ll go.”
From the house, they wandered for ten minutes along a lane then into a field. Guy took them along the hedge line, through a gate into knee high meadow that smelled vaguely of cow shit and a floral sweetness in the damp night. In the corner of the meadow they stopped. Guy pulled out his car keys and pressed a button on the key fob. The ground beneath them began to lower into the field. They were on a platform that took them into a hole where the doors to a buried shipping container could be opened. Inside the container was a small antechamber where they donned clean suits, filter masks and eye protection as the platform rose. Beyond the antechamber was the Epimetheus production unit. By its entrance were tightly packed racks carrying completed suits of armour, overalls, two styles of helmet and the distinctive mask. Beyond the racks was the production line.
“First station’s here on the left,” said Guy. “Time me.”
He worked three adjacent stations at once, moving between a template marker and laser cutter, a stitching table and another stitching unit that created webbing harness pieces. All the machines were automated. Guy positioned or stretched materials across the tables, fixed them on guides or against marks then activated the cutting or sewing routines. He combined pieces to put simple pockets on the jumpsuit and attached the webbing utility loops on the front of the suit, then attached the front to the back. On just the second sewing station he made the armour carrier from four layers of stretchy airtex type material.
“How long?”
“Nearly ten minutes,” said Emile.
Guy hung the two garments on hangars at the fourth station which was just racking. At the fifth station, opposite the fourth, the production line reversed direction and ran back to the container’s entrance.
“This is the composite.” The station was a table with raised sides and a kind of hydraulic press mounted over it. The base of the table had shapes in its flat face that were obviously for each component. The face of the hydraulic press’ plate had corresponding indents.
“For fuck’s sake, Guy,” said Emile. “How long did it take you to come up with all this?”
“The whole design of the suit, the armour and the production line was a few hours of thinking. Cassandra helped me find the material stations and program them. The composite table’s a custom job. For simplicity, the armour plates are a single size and don’t wrap the body. When we make them in a proper production facility they’re better. We make three sizes and they’re more enveloping. This field unit had to be more pragmatic. This step takes 35 minutes.”
Guy stretched a film of Saran wrap from the first roll beside the table across its surface, then sprayed release agent across it. He started a timer on the edge of the table and poured two resin components into a steel bucket, mixed them with a drill paddle then put a vacuum lid on the bucket and activated a pump. As the vacuum formed in the sealed bucket, he stretched a layer of yellow Kevlar material from the next roll above the Saran warp across the table, cut it and smoothed it gently into the table on top of the Saran wrap layer. The vacuum pulled all the bubbles from the resin as he worked the material. He poured in just enough resin to cover and soak the first layer, working it with a kind of paddle. Then he layered glass fibre and resin over and over, a layer of Kevlar, more glass fibre, then a final layer of Kevlar and resin until the bucket was empty. He sprayed the surface with release agent and spread a final layer of Saran wrap across. When 15 minutes had passed, he checked the resin’s temperature and viscosity. He held a button above the press and the top plate lowered then the shapes in the table began to rise up to mate with the top plate.
“Right, that needs another 19 minutes then we can release it. There’s one I made earlier.”
At the next station, there was a full pressed sheet of composite. Guy peeled off the Saran wrap coatings then positioned the composite moulding against guides on the station’s table, hit a button and the table’s robotic armature traced a laser around each moulded component to cut them from the sheet. He took the two hangars from the rack and hung the newly stitched garments from a wire line that ran at the ceiling along the second half of the production line. As each armour plate was cut free by the laser, Guy slipped it into the corresponding stretch pocket on the armour suit. In 5 minutes, the armour was complete. He slipped the armour suit into the jumpsuit and then slung both hangars along the wire to the front of the container to join the racks of completed outfits.
“Skip the last two stations. Helmets are trickier. I can’t be arsed to show you that.”
“So it’s all commercialised now?” said Anna.
“Yeah. Everything you see here is boringly normal. All the composite gear including the Kevlar is unexciting. The jumpsuit material isn’t top of the line Nomex, but it doesn’t need to be, so it’s cheap and easy to buy for… welding blankets or whatever. We separate the garment production from the armour. The helmets are being marketed as airsoft products so we have a legit reason for volume production. That brand also makes all the armour and the protective mask, it just doesn’t sell them.”
“What’s the mask?” said Anna.
“Well, it’s the V mask with polycarbonate lenses but it’s made of the armour composite so it’ll protect you from LTL rounds, some bullets and physical assault. But the other part’s the respirator. We can’t make that in the field. It’s a silicone face mask with a compact vapour and gas spec filter cannister in it. It goes under the mask. On its own, its like a paranoid COVID mask that would work. We market it as that so volume production is legit and we can move them around through import/export. The Chinese were desperate to make them. The filters are made in a few places and we assemble them wherever. It’s all very humble stuff, but put it all together and you get Aspis.”
“What about the weapons?” asked Emile.
“Well, it sounds basic, but it’s about the mentality of the fight. First is a super powerful catapult that’s super accurate at short range and really predictable on a ballistic range. Do you want a demo of the gear? I know you’re not bashful.” Guy grabbed a large cardboard box from the floor amongst the racks, dropped the platform and opened the container. In the lit container, he pulled out the catapult, a selection of steel ball bearings, large paintballs, what was clearly an explosive round, and a weird loop of silicone, some plastic bags and a hard container.
Outside in the moonlit meadow, they fired the bearings at close and longer range at a tree further along the hedge line.
“Close up, the catapult’s so powerful it’s got a flat trajectory at about 40 metres for all this ammo. The string and the clinometer let you make accurate ballistic shots beyond 40 metres.” Guy pointed at the clinometer on the side of the catapult that showed the angle it was being pointed up at. From the catapult’s sling bag dangled a piece of string in coloured sections.
“When you draw the catapult, you drag the string back with the sling bag. The colour on the string tells you the power, and that corresponds with the clinometer reading, so you know that power for that angle equals that range of ballistic shot. How far’s the next big tree? Eighty metres ish?”
He loaded a large paintball into the sling, set his arm angle with the clinometer and drew the catapult two thirds of the way. The paintball struck the tree at about waist height.
“Now that’s pretty good. You want the paint to hit the head really, so it’s preferable to use those rounds at closer ranges where you fire flat and direct, not indirect unless you’re working as a team firing volleys. But check this out.” He took out the clearly technical round, which looked like an oversized shotgun cartridge with a pointed tip and small barrel fins. “This is a custom design.”
Using the same ballistic technique, he fired the round and it struck the tree close to the paint strike, only higher up. There was a loud crackbang, a flash and bits of the tree bark blew off, exposing light wood underneath.
“What’s in that?” asked Anna, through laughter and with wide eyes. Emile gave a huffing noise of approval.
“It’s my take on a Mid Lethal catapult round. Pointed, weighted tip like a shotgun cartridge starter sets it off on contact. That ignites the charge in the core and at the back of the round. Around the core charge is some shot and magnesium and thermite mix for the “flash”. Right at the back is a steel disc that just directs the main charge forwards. In the main charge are thin, almost micro flechettes.”
“Fuck man, that’s fucking serious.” Emile was still smiling. Guy ran towards the tree and waved them with him. Something from the round was still burning around the tree’s base and on its trunk. At the tree, he swept the incendiary off the tree with his sleeve and checked that the spots of fire on the ground were shrinking.
“Yep. You get several effects. The pointed tip gives a serious punch, but it won’t penetrate armour. The shot goes out mostly sideways and forwards, into the target and around the impact point. The flash can disorientate and the small amount of thermite is general incendiary. The back charge drives the flechettes forwards and outwards, so some go into the target and some give an area effect. Because they’re micro, they can penetrate some soft armour or get in gaps, and we all know how nasty any flechette is.”
“Did Cassandra think that up?” said Anna.
“Err… no. It’s mine.”
“That’s only Mid Lethal against armoured targets,” she said.
“Yeah, well, there’s a lot of variations on the design. Wait till you see the drones.”
“So that’s ball bearings, paint, bomblets. What’s this?” she said, holding up the rubber loop.
“That’s the organics.” Guy took the rubber loop and suspended a plastic bag from it then positioned the loop between his legs and squatted. “This allows you to cleanly piss and shit straight into a bag that you just tie off after you wipe and put the paper in the bag. That gives you a literal shit bomb that you can fire. The bag’s specced to only split on impact, not launch. It’s an evolution of the French weapon. The hard container is for carrying shit bombs.”
“Hmm. That’s not a bad arsenal,” said Emile. “Emphasis on the arse. Bearings for impact damage, paint for blinding and handling issues, mixed bombs, and faeces for terror and toxins. You’ve been fucking busy.”
“Making my mark before I gave it all to Centre. Cassandra’s got it all now. It’s fun to think up and test out. Unless you’re the test dummy. Well…” he said, checking his watch, “I think that’s beer o’clock. The short ribs will be ready.”